


Life and All Its Side Effects

by reflectionsofalex



Series: Showing Symptoms [2]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Agender Character, Angst, Asexual Character, Bisexual Character, College AU, F/F, Fluff, Gay Character, Healthy Relationships, Human AU, Hurt/Comfort, Lesbian Character, Life After High School, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Nonbinary Character, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Recovery from trauma, Slice of Life, happy endings, seriously it's full of fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2020-09-02 10:23:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20274376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reflectionsofalex/pseuds/reflectionsofalex
Summary: You can remove the batteries from every clock on Earth and still time ticks on. You can roll a thousand dice and never predict the direction you’ll be pulled. But time does not define space, probability does not command possibility, and the world spins a little slower when you share the view.





	1. Moving In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A year and a half after the events of He Says He Loves Me, the gang has graduated and Sans and Sean are ready for what comes next. Their families help them move in.

Everyone knows that you aren’t supposed to base your higher education decisions on whether they’ll keep you close to your boyfriend. And they didn’t, not really.

Because if neither of you were planning on leaving the state anyway, and if the small private college with those great scholarship offers was a short drive from that culinary institute your boyfriend had been dreaming about since middle school, nobody could deny the convenience of sharing an apartment. 

Almost nobody.

“Do you really have to move? You could just commute. Mike said his cousin did that.”

Sans sighed. “Paps, if I had to drive an hour and a half just to get to class, I don’t think I would _go_ to class.”

“But what if I need help with math? I heard math gets really hard in sixth grade.”

“We can Skype every day, and Tori said you can visit as often as you want.” Well, she drew the line at school nights, but weekends were free game. “Besides, won’t it be nice to have a room to yourself again?”

This exchange had happened almost every day that summer, so Sans was a little surprised when Papyrus forewent his usual pout and latched onto his brother, pressing his face against Sans’s chest.

“I’ll miss you,” he said quietly.

Sans held him close. “I’ll miss you, too. Know how much?”

“How much?” 

“2,000 pounds.”

Pulling away in confusion, Papyrus squinted at him. “That makes no sense. Why would you measure how much you miss someone in pounds?”

“‘Cause I’ll miss you a ton, duh.” Classic.

Their new apartment was on the cheaper side, and the walls were thin. Tori gave Frisk the last of the pies to put in the freezer (they were all housewarming gifts, of course, and definitely not leftovers from a bout of stress-baking) and went to investigate the shrieking that could be heard from the kitchen. 

One of the bedroom doors was open. Inside Sean appeared to be having a very serious conversation with Fiona, who had recently discovered the word “why” and took a real liking to it, while their mom secretly snapped pictures on her phone. They seemed unaffected by the racket coming from across the hall.

Opening the door to Sans’s room revealed Sans himself, lying on his poorly made bed and cackling. Papyrus, now that he was finished yelling, had flopped sideways across Sans’s torso and was burying his face in the comforter.

Tori tried to sound stern. “Sans, stop tormenting your brother.” She mostly just sounded fond.

“Aw, c’mon Tori, he loved that joke.”

“Then why was he screaming?”

Papyrus lifted his head just enough to be heard. “Because I actually did like that joke and I hate myself for it.” He let it drop back down.

She chuckled at that, making her way into the room. This would be hard on both of them, she knew, but it would be good. They needed the space to grow independently, needed to learn how to trust that their brother would be alright even if they couldn’t see each other in person every day.

It would be hard for her as well. Tori was so proud of Sans for taking this step forward, and she knew he would do just fine, but a small part of her longed to take him home, to where she knew he would be safe, to where she could protect him best. It was irrational, and she would never actually hold him back, not ever. Still, she worried. 

Anyone would if they had watched a routine flu shot trigger a dissociative episode.

Another yell, one Tori had come to recognize as a battle cry, shook her out of her thoughts. Frisk was in the middle of a running leap toward the bed.

“Dogpile!” they cried, falling on top of the pile of brothers. They giggled with Papyrus when Sans let out a dramatic groan.

“Uncle, uncle! Get off me, you rapscallions.”

Said rapscallions began to sit up, still giggling, and then Sans grabbed them both and pulled them back down.

“Aha! It seems you’ve both fallen victim to my brilliant japery!”

Papyrus scoffed from where he was comfortably snuggled up against his brother. “That wasn’t brilliant! It wasn’t even a jape. Right Frisk?”

They nodded, not sure what qualified something as a jape but in agreement nonetheless.

“Unbelievable. Hey G,” Sans hollered, “get in here!”

Well aware that ‘G’ would never deny such a request, Tori stepped out of the doorway and sank into the desk chair. Sure enough, it took mere moments for Sean to show up. 

He gazed at the bed’s occupants with a raised eyebrow, moving the toddler in his arms to settle on his hip. Elaine followed him in, moving to stand next to the desk. The mothers shared a knowing look.

“As the oldest person in this room who doesn’t pay taxes yet, and also as my boyfriend, we require your wisdom.” 

Sean looked unimpressed.

“These hellions,” Sans continued, nodding his head at the preteens on either side of him, “don’t think I japed them. Do you agree with me that I did, in fact, jape them, and that it was brilliant?”

Stroking his chin with his free hand, Sean leaned over the bed to examine the scene. Fiona shifted in his grasp.

“No,” she said helpfully.

“Hm.” Sean considered this. “You know what, Fi? You make a strong argument. Sans, as your elder and boyfriend, it is my expert opinion that there was no jape, and if there was, it was definitely not brilliant.”

“Betrayed first by my siblings and now by my Prince Charming? This is too much to bear.”

Prince Charming was a new one. Sean rolled his eyes. Referring to Frisk as his sibling was also new, and Tori blinked back the tears that welled up. 

“You’re, like, four months older than me. How expert can your opinion be?” Sans was moving through the stages of grief fairly quickly.

“Sorry Sleeping Beauty, the charges have already been filed.”

Sans gazed at him in something close to wonder. “Okay, I’m going to need everybody else in the room to look away immediately. Someone take the baby, too.”

“Why?” Frisk asked, already moving to retrieve Fiona.

“Because I’m about to kiss this man and none of you need to see that.”

Tori dutifully covered her eyes, smiling softly. Elaine whistled lowly, only looking away after Sean’s face had grown sufficiently red.

“Sleeping Beauty and Prince Charming aren’t even from the same fairy tale,” Papyrus mumbled. “You guys are weird.” He rolled off of Sans’s arm and once again planted his face in the rumpled comforter.

“Yeah, but Sleeping Beauty’s my favorite.”

And then Sean was pulling him up off the bed.

And then they were kissing.

And if anyone snuck a peek at their gentle embrace, well, nobody had to know.


	2. The Gang's All Here. Kind of.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shortly after the events of last chapter, the gang has a chat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small warning for a tiny BDSM reference (Udaya is incapable of civil conversation)

It was a Friday evening. There was a nice breeze in the air, the sun was reluctant to sink below the horizon, and the world felt gentle. Serene, even. Sean was on the verge of throwing his laptop out the window.

Sans was content to watch, amused, as he once again lost an intense staring contest with the buffering circle. 

“You’ll get ‘em next time, champ.”

Turning around slowly, Sean levelled him with a glare that could whither entire rainforests. 

“Aw, c’mon sport, turn that frown upsi-” He was cut short by something hitting him directly in the face. Sans gasped when he saw the offending object. “Hey, that’s our only throw pillow! What have we said about using our words?”

Sean’s eyes burned with righteous fire. “I will not hesitate to shove our only throw pillow up your ass.” He was not patient when it came to technology.

“Woah, is this a bad time? I can always call back later…”

It seemed the call had gone through just after Sean turned away. Udaya’s pixelated face lit up the screen, and Sean was quick to spin back around. Sans held their only throw pillow defensively against his chest, just in case.

“No! Don’t end the call, don’t touch _anything_. Don’t even change the brightness.”

“Shit man, whatever you say. What’d you do to get him all worked up, shortstop?” Udaya’s expression turned wolfish. “Unless I tuned in to a kink negotiation. I don’t want to hear about that, but I always did have Grillby pegged as a dominatrix.” 

Alice’s window popped up just then, averting the long-winded rant Sean was undoubtedly about to start in on. He didn’t dare say anything at the moment, but Sans figured he should send his gratitude to her later over text. Unlike Alice and Udaya, he didn’t have the option of volume control.

“Hey guys!” Blissfully unaware of the conversation she had stumbled into, Alice was grinning brightly. “It’s so g-good to see you! I can’t believe I’ve already had a week of c-classes. You start Monday, right Sans?”

Just like that, everything was calm. Sean had given up on his tirade and got up from the floor to sit next to Sans, who wisely decided to take a raincheck on seeking retribution for the pillow assault. Udaya was now focused solely on Alice. It was probably for the best.

“Any assholes I have to beat up?”

“Nope! I-I’ve actually made quite a few friends already.”

Udaya positively beamed, her wide smile far more genuine than the piranha-esque form it usually took. “Can’t say I’m surprised. You’re pretty awesome.”

“Heh, well, it doesn’t hurt that people are impressed when I tell them my girlfriend’s in the Minneapolis police academy, and that she punched one of the other recruits for being racist on the first day.”

It wasn’t often that Alice spoke without stuttering, or that Udaya blushed up to the tips of her ears. There did seem to be a very strong correlation between these phenomena, however, considering how often they co-occurred.

“Eh, Minneapolis police force, big whoop. My boyfriend’s in the CIA.” Sans snickered, pleased with himself. He’d been saving that one for weeks.

Sean rolled his eyes. “I’m sure everyone will be beyond impressed when they find out what ‘CIA’ stands for.”

“They will!” There was a second, more exaggerated eye-roll. Sans looked offended. “Shut up, you don’t know anything. You’re in the _Culinary Institute of America_, that’s impressive.” 

Two successive whooshing noises announced the arrivals of Nico and Matteo to the video chat. They were greeted warmly by Alice and enthusiastically by Udaya, and ignored by Sean and Sans, who were much too busy bickering to pay attention to anything else.

“I’m just saying it’s a big deal. You shouldn’t sell yourself short.”

“You wanted me to go to the ‘Way Cool Cooking School!’”

“It’s called the ‘Way Cool Cooking School,’ Sean, you could’ve at least applied. And don’t change the subject, we’re talking about your refusal to acknowledge how amazing you are.”

“_My_ refusal? That’s rich coming from the guy who can’t admit he’s a genius.”

“That’s because I’m not!”

“Boys, boys, please,” Matteo admonished. “Just kiss already, all the flirting is giving me a headache.” 

Sans looked at the screen in surprise. “Oh, hey Matteo, hey Nico. How long have you been here?”

“Long enough,” muttered Nico.

Despite his supposed irritation, Nico was happy. Senior year had been stressful for everyone, but the pressure to decide what to do after graduation had weighed especially heavy on him. He’d spent months agonizing over his future, applying to more colleges than anyone else in their little group even though he wasn’t sure he wanted to go. It had surprised everyone when, instead of taking up an internship at a radio station or at least staying in-state, he elected to study both music and broadcast journalism in California.

Nico would never admit it to his cousin, but knowing Matteo would only be living a few hours away helped alleviate his worries immensely. 

“Sorry about that,” Sean chuckled (Sans had a sneaking suspicion that he was only sorry he hadn’t gotten the last word). “How’s it going out West?”

“Los Angeles is simply _wonderful_, you all have no idea. It’s exactly where I need to be. I’m literally dying for the semester to begin.”

Nico huffed. “You are truly a monarch of drama, Matteo.”

“Oh please, you’re just grumpy because your dorm doesn’t have air conditioning.”

“It’s Cali-fucking-fornia! Air conditioning should be mandated by the state!”

As the only two people who were physically together, Sans and Sean were able to share a smug look--who was bickering now?--with ease. It looked romantic. Udaya stared pointedly at Alice’s icon on her screen, hoping to partake in the look sharing. She was not successful.

“I’ve n-never heard you use tmesis, Nico!” Alice, who had the face of an angel and the tongue of an anxiety-ridden undercover sailor, was glowing with pride. “I c-can’t wait to see what another week of breathing in the California air d-does for the inclusion of expletives in your vernacular.”

“Yeah, yeah, we get it, you’re smart.” Matteo was well-versed in the art of derisive flattery.

“I think it’s hot,” purred Udaya.

Sans glanced at his boyfriend, suddenly inspired. “Hey, did you know that electric flux density is directly related to electric field strength with the material’s permittivity acting as the constant of proportionality?”

He received a deadpan stare for his efforts. “I’m not kissing you again until you wash your mouth out with soap.”

And so it went. The six of them bantered back and forth, uninhibited by half a country’s worth of separation. Udaya was thrilled to describe in detail the most recent of her Punch All Racists exploits, Alice stepping in to translate when her girlfriend sacrificed intelligible verbal communication in favor of acting things out and making sound effects.

“I was barely even reprimanded! Gerson told me I wasn’t allowed to hit people that aren’t breaking the law and then recommended some easy dinner recipes that don’t include beef.”

“Since when are you a devout Hindu?” In all the time he’d known her, Sean hadn’t once seen Udaya pass up an opportunity for sausage pizza.

“Since my immediate supervisor didn’t put my ass on the fryer.”

“Fair enough.”

They talked well into the night, hours rolling by unnoticed. It was different, not eating lunch together five days a week and hanging out after school, but it was enough.

Apart from Sean, Sans hadn’t told any of them much about what happened. The authorities (it was a convenient term to lump everyone under) had decided not to make the whole fiasco known to the general public, and he liked telling himself that was why he kept so tight-lipped.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust his friends. Sans knew they’d never be anything other than understanding and supportive, he had no misgivings about that, but it was just… 

Easier. Talking about it with Papyrus, Tori, and Sean was enough to send him through the wringer, and he had no desire whatsoever to add more people to that list. Besides, Arthur said he didn’t have to tell anybody else if he didn’t want to, not right now, and therapists know best. So they say.

They knew _something_ had happened, what with Tori taking him and Papyrus in and Sans having acquired some Issues, capital I and all, but that was about it. His friends didn’t press, even when he missed school. Even when he had to duck out of class or lunch or the middle of a conversation because he was too overwhelmed to be anything but alone. Sans did his best to convey how thankful he was for that. 

“Hey dipshit, are you listening to me?”

“No. Was I supposed to be listening?”

“Jesus Christ. Grillby, how do you put up with this guy?”

He figured they got the message.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do I study physics? Yes. Did I have to look up the equations for electric flux? Yes.
> 
> On another note, I just realized that I didn't include the html to italicise text for most if not all of hshlm, whoops. I want to go back and fix it, and I will at some point, but also I wrote the first few chapters of it like three years ago and knowing me I'll spend hours trying to make it less shitty, so...


	3. Sometimes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A three-part mini opera, summarized as follows:
> 
> Part I: Sean: “You are safe.”  
Sans: “Sounds fake but okay.”
> 
> Part II: Sean: “You are cared for.”  
Sans, crying: “Wig.”
> 
> Part III: Sean: “I’m going to downplay my emotions now.”  
Sans: “I WON’T HESITATE, BITCH”

Sometimes Sans woke up tied to a chair.

The first time it happened after moving out, like most of the other times, he hadn’t realized he was awake--he hadn’t realized he’d been sleeping at all. His mind was in a different place, a place where his body was in a chair and his limbs were strapped in tight.

He couldn’t breathe. The restraints were rough and and flames rippled underneath his skin fire turned him to ash it hurt it hurt water all around in his mouth in his lungs he couldn’t breathe-

“...hear me? You are safe. You are in our apartment. We are in your bedroom. You are safe.”

He was scared. It hurt. He wanted to be done. It hurt.

“It’s okay. You had a nightmare. You are safe.”

He grasped at the words. At the voice. Tried to understand. Tried to hold on.

“I am with you. You are safe.”

He tried to breathe.

“I am Sean. You are with me. Nobody else is here. You are safe.”

He didn’t know what was real. There was water and it was choking and there was fire and it was burning and he wanted to leave but he couldn’t move he was strapped to a chair and he couldn’t move-

“You are safe.”

No, that didn’t make sense. There was water. There was fire. It hurt.

“You are safe.”

It was Sean. Sean was talking, Sean was here. Sean was lying?

“You are safe.”

“No.” It was hardly a whisper, but it was all he could manage.

“You’re safe, Sans, I promise. We’re in our apartment, on your bed. You had a nightmare. You are safe.”

The water was still there, but his head was above it now. Sans opened his eyes.

His bedroom. Sean, on the bed. Light coming in from the hallway through the open door. His bag, his books, his laptop he always forgot to close.

Nothing was touching him, but he could feel the water, feel the fire. It was trying to pull him back and it hurt. He needed… 

He reached out. He moved. Sean waited for him. 

Then they were holding hands, and the touch was jarring but it grounded him. It felt real, more real than the water and the fire and almost as real as the pain. 

Sean embraced him and Sans clutched at his shirt. This was real.

“I’ve got you, it’s okay, you’re safe.” His murmurs were soothing. 

The panic was slowly fading. Sans was exhausted.

“I’m safe.”

“That’s right. You’re safe, Sans.”

He was safe.

* * *

Sometimes Sans considered being more of a douchebag. 

Nobody stares at douchebags for wearing glasses inside because that’s just what douchebags do. 

He had spoken with Student Accommodations and his professors about the occasional need to wear sunglasses to class--among other things, of course--but he wasn’t about to go explaining himself to all the other students, which meant a handful of people were currently staring at him and wondering to themselves whether or not this kid was, in fact, a douchebag.

It wasn’t a daily or even weekly occurrence, but it wasn’t a one-time kind of thing either. Therefore, stares.

Sans glanced at his watch for the fifth time in as many minutes. He’d texted Sean one of their secret messages, the sunglasses emoji, right before lecture. Once deciphered, this particular secret message would read: my head is killing me and I know you have the car today so you were planning on picking me up anyway but if you could park up front and maybe bring an ice pack that would be really cool (pun intended).

Apparently being repeatedly injected with an experimental medical substance for multiple years could result in life-long susceptibility to migraines. Whoopee. 

The dark lenses helped a little bit, keeping some of the room’s harsh light from making the pressure behind his eyes worse, and Sans had no qualms about cutting the day short if the pain got to be too much to handle.

Today was not one of those days when the sledgehammer inside his skull was sledgehammering hard enough to be debilitating, though, so he’d decided to stick it out. Even if it sucked.

There was a tap on his shoulder. Sans jumped, lifting his head and wincing at the angry throb it gave in response. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. The car’s right outside, we can leave whenever you’re ready.” The voice was quiet. It was the voice of someone who had received the sunglasses emoji.

Sans squinted. “G? Why’re you in my class?”

“Your class is over.”

Huh. Weird. He could’ve sworn- nope. Sean was there, standing beside him, and the professor gathering her things and pretending not to watch them, but the rest of the lecture hall was empty. 

“Oh.” His mind felt hazy. “Home?”

Even without the vertigo, Sean’s smile was dizzyingly sweet. He slung Sans’s bag over his shoulder before helping him stand and wrapping an arm around his waist.

Sans let himself be guided away, hiding his face in the crook of his friend’s neck with a moan when they stepped out into the sunlight.

“I’m sorry,” Sean whispered, “I know it hurts. We’re almost to the car, just hold on.”

Holding on seemed to take much more effort than it should, and by the time he was seated he was ready for a nap. Or a coma.

The drive took longer than usual, extra care being taken to keep the ride smooth and steady. Sean kept a careful eye on his passenger, ready to pull over if need be. Luckily enough Sans’s stomach decided not to revolt until they were back at the apartment and in range of the toilet.

“S’rry. Wasn’ this bad earlier,” he slurred, slumping back into Sean as his head spun. It felt like his skull was being drilled into.

“You don’t have to be sorry, sweetheart. Let me take care of you.”

The soft, achingly gentle words and the kiss pressed to the top of his head were, on top of the nauseating pain, completely overwhelming. Sean brushed away the tears dripping down the other’s cheeks and held Sans to his chest while he struggled to find some sort of equilibrium.

“Think you’re ‘n angel.”

Sean chuckled quietly. “And I think you’re delirious. Do you need to stay here longer or can I take you to bed?”

There must be a euphemism in there, Sans thought, but he was too out of it to really notice. “Mm. Bed.”

And then, slowly, they were standing. Sans leaned heavily into the arms supporting him, breathing harshly.

“Good?” 

Well, no, but he didn’t think he was going to get sick again. “Yeah.”

Sans didn’t remember getting to his room, didn’t remember taking off his hoodie or sliding under the covers. He did remember the feeling of fingers carding carefully through his hair. He remembered feeling safe.

And when he woke up hours later, snuggled in a warm embrace, he remembered he didn’t have to be alone.

* * *

Sometimes Sans was betrayed by his own sense of humor.

“Yeah, so after that the whole class got into a debate over the ethics of the death penalty, and by debate I mean two hundred people were yelling at each other across an auditorium since literally everyone takes Intro to Philosophy as a gen ed.”

Sean handed him a plate to dry. “Sounds wild.”

“It was. This one kid wouldn’t shut up about the electric chair, he kept saying bullshit like ‘It’s the most cost-effective and it’s not even that painful.’ That was rich. ‘Not that painful,’” Sans scoffed. “This guy had no idea what he was talking about. Something tells me he’s never actually been in an electric chair.”

His goal was to make a vague and marginally amusing joke. From the look on Sean’s face, he did not succeed. 

“Did _you_ have any idea what he was talking about?” 

The question wasn’t derisive or instigative. Sean was giving him his full attention, brimming with tender concern, and Sans didn’t know what to do other than nod. This was not at all where he’d intended the conversation to go.

“Does… does that- you mean that bastard fucking _electrocuted_ you?”

Sans chuckled nervously. “Well, uh, it wouldn’t actually be considered electrocution, per se, because I didn’t, you know. Die.”

At that point the dishes had been completely abandoned. Sean was seething, and Sans watched helplessly as he ranted.

“No, no, that’s not fair. You didn’t deserve that, no one deserves that. How could he do that to you?” He was pacing now, looking utterly distraught. 

“Woah, G, it’s okay-”

“It’s not okay!” Sean whirled on him, blinking rapidly. “It’s not okay. Why would he hurt you like that? It’s not okay.”

Sans turned the sink off and gently took Sean’s hand. “C’mere.” He led him to the couch, covering them both with a blanket.

“I’m sorry,” Sean mumbled, resting his head on Sans’s shoulder. “I know I don’t have the right to be acting like this; it didn’t even happen to me. All my freaking out is probably just making it worse for you.”

Christ, they really were a couple of dumbasses. “Hey. Look at me.” He stayed where he was. Sans sighed but didn’t push it. “You know you’re allowed to be upset, right? Your feelings are just as valid as mine.”

“But-”

“No buts.”

“Sans-”

“I will not hesitate to fight you. You wanna go? Square up, Grillbz, let’s throw hands.”

That got a small smile out of him. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Guilty as charged.” Sans grinned back before pulling Sean closer, tracing random patterns on the back of his neck. “Besides, you definitely aren’t making things worse for me--if anything you’re fuelling my insufferable vanity because you make me feel like I deserve the whole world. Seriously, I’m getting a big head. My ego will suffocate us both.”

Sean huffed, not to be deterred. “But you _do_ deserve the whole world. You deserve every star in the whole damn universe.”

He couldn’t see Sans’s face, what with his head on his shoulder, but the lack of response was more than promising. Though neither of them were too big on romance, Sean prided himself in his ability to short-circuit his boyfriend’s brain with the occasional surprise attack.

Eventually the silence was broken with a dramatic sputtering. Then came some jagged sentence fragments, then more sputtering. Sean was immensely satisfied with himself. He waited patiently until finally, finally, Sans remembered how to be slightly coherent.

“...ditto.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof I'm still not satisfied with this chapter but I've waited long enough. Hopefully it wasn't too disjointed.


	4. Anniversary

“Today’s our anniversary.”

Sean glanced up from his book with a frown. Between the two of them there were plenty of bad anniversaries (almost entirely made up of Father Issues), so they made a point to celebrate the good ones. The day they first met, their first official date, that kind of thing.

There were still a couple of weeks until the Day You Fell For Me, as Sans insisted on calling that fateful winter afternoon, so Sean was left trying to figure out if this was the setup for a joke.

“Since when?”

“Since now. I’m declaring it.” Sans lifted his legs onto the couch so that his feet rested on Sean’s lap, nudging the book out of the way with his toe.

“What, you want to commemorate your annual midterm panic?” 

Maybe it was wrong to be smug when that exact brand of panic flashed across Sans’s face, but Sean couldn’t help feeling just a bit satisfied.

“Shit. I need to study. But,” he continued, setting that aside for later, “today is a very important day, and it would be a travesty not to celebrate it.” 

Physics students had a reputation of being confident and self-righteous. Considering how easy it was to get them worked up over exams, however, that was probably at least partially incorrect. If the sudden realization that he was running out of time to prepare wasn’t enough to distract Sans, this likely wasn’t a joke.

And if it was a joke, it must be a damn good one.

Sean played along. “I will not stand for travesties, not in this house.” 

“It’s not really a house.”

“Cramped apartment, then,” he corrected. “I accept your declaration.”

Sans wiggled his toes before sitting up. “You didn’t read the terms and conditions. Fatal mistake.”

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

“Because,” Sans murmured, lacing their fingers together, “today is the anniversary of the first time I held your hand.” He held up their interlocked hands with a devious grin. “I hope you don’t mind sweaty palms, because we’re going to be celebrating all night.”

It took Sean about two seconds to process this, and less than half that to pull his boyfriend in for a kiss.

When they eventually pulled apart, just enough to breathe, he was ready.

“You’re lucky neither of us are lactose intolerant, because that was the cheesiest thing I’ve ever heard.”

It took Sans about ten seconds to process this. He felt dazed in the best kind of way, like he always did when they kissed. Once the delirious bliss had faded enough to reboot his brain, the words sunk in, and suddenly they were kissing again.

They fell asleep on the couch that night, still holding hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah I know this is super short, but it be like that sometimes.


	5. Shampoo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recovery isn't linear, but that doesn't negate your progress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning:  
Short, non-graphic flashback  
Internalized ableism (that is immediately shot down)

One of the many great things about a city like Minneapolis was that it was big enough to stay interesting but not so overrun that its little nooks lost their rather obscure charm. Such was Tem’s, a small diner that not even all the locals were familiar with.

Sean had discovered it only recently, upon recommendation by a classmate (fellow CIA agent, Sans would say) who had grown up in the neighborhood. It was small, eccentric, and the perfect spot for a date.

The menu, which had enough typos on its own, provided Sans with endless entertainment. He gleefully made his way through the options, determined to rename every one with some sort of pun. Sean mostly just groaned at his efforts and occasionally provided some suggestions of his own.

Romance was truly in the air. And then the waitress tripped on her way to their table. 

She was holding a pitcher of water.

It splashed onto Sans’s head.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, here, let me get you some napkins…”

Sean let her voice fade into the background, watching his date with concern. He seemed to be frozen, the color draining from his face as his eyes grew hazy.

“Sans?”

At the sound of his name Sans flinched, then bolted toward the bathroom. Sparing the waitress an apologetic grimace, Sean followed after him. The bathroom door was closed, but Sean could hear the desperate gasping coming from inside.

He knocked gently. “It’s Sean, can I come in?” 

Everything went silent. It took every drop of self-restraint to stay where he was, waiting outside the closed door.

“...please.”

That was all it took. He stepped into the bathroom, closing the door behind him and grabbing some paper towels from the dispenser. Sans had wedged himself into the corner across from the toilet and was staring at the doorway, eyes wide in horror.

“I didn’t lock the door.” The words were choked.

“That’s alright, Sans, I was outside the whole time. I wouldn’t have let anyone in.” This wasn’t the door his boyfriend was talking about, Sean knew.

He crouched down, careful not to move too quickly. “We’re in the bathroom at Tem’s. You’re safe.”

Sans didn’t seem to register what he was saying. His breaths were rapid and uneven, eyes remaining fixed on the door even as he shrunk into himself as much as he physically could. On some level he knew he wasn’t in Snowdin, recognized he was in a danger born of memory rather than present threat, but there was cold water dripping onto his forehead and he _didn’t lock the door_. 

“The waitress accidentally spilled on you. Do you want to dry your hair off?”

That didn’t make sense. Waitress? 

“The door.” It was important, the door, because, because- “He’s coming.”

“You’re safe,” Sean murmured. “It’s over, he can’t hurt you anymore. Is it alright if I touch you?”

Sans’s eyes flicked around the room before landing on Sean. He pressed his feet flat in his shoes, against the hard tile of the bathroom floor, and jerked his head.

The paper towels were rough and thin, probably the cheapest that could be bought in bulk, and if Sans were religious he might’ve thought they came directly from God Herself.

The water on his face was gently wiped away first, then Sean did the best he could to dry his hair. Sans worked to match his partner’s breathing as he counted the things he could see and hear and touch. Reality slowly focused around him, and some of the terror shifted into relief. He leaned forward into a warm chest.

“Sean.”

One hand stayed where it was, cradling the back of his head, while the other drifted down between his shoulder blades. “I’m here, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

Sans slumped completely against him, hating the whimper that slipped up from the back of his throat but too overwhelmed to really give a damn. He squeezed his eyes tight against the hot tears welling up. Arthur would probably point out how quickly Sans had come back from the panic, how he had managed to ground himself in the moment, but that didn’t stop the waves of shame from rolling in just like they always did.

“I’m sorry,” Sans whispered. He felt sick. He felt guilty.

Sure, they’d had to end past dates early or cancel altogether, many times because of him, but it was supposed to be better now. _He_ was supposed to be better now.

“Don’t be.” Sean stroked his hair with a tenderness that ached. “It’s not your fault, Sans.”

But it was, wasn’t it. Because he may not be choosing to have these stupid flashbacks, but at the end of the day he was the one ruining date night.

“Do you want to meet me at the car? I should be out in a few minutes.”

He was the reason they were leaving before Sean could try the food at the restaurant he’d been so excited to visit. He was the reason Sean had to go get their things and explain what had happened by himself.

And then they were driving back to the apartment, Sean talking away about something Fiona had done at school, and Sans couldn’t bring himself to say a word until they were halfway through a box of gas station pizza on their living room couch.

“No one would blame you for moving on, you know.” He hated himself for saying it, well aware that they’d had this conversation many times in one form or another but even more aware that he was a huge fucking mess.

Sean set his pizza slice back in the box and turned to face him. “That’s nice, but I don’t want to ‘move on,’ Sans. There’s nothing to move on from. I’m right where I want to be, as long as you want me to be here.” His voice was steady, but he wasn’t able to keep the hurt out of it.

“I want you to be here, of course I want you to be here. But that doesn’t change the fact that you didn’t sign up for this.”

“I signed up for you, Sans-”

“Not for this shit!” Sans drew in a shaking breath, expression torn between angry and distraught. “It’s been three _fucking_ years, and a tiny bit of water triggered a goddamned flashback. You’re supposed to be my boyfriend, not my caretaker. It’s not fair to you.” He scowled at the floor. “Things should be better, but I’m still a complete wreck. It’s always gonna be like this.”

This insecurity was by no means new, but it had never gotten easier to hear. “Stop, Sans. That’s absolute bullshit.”

“It’s not!”

“It is,” Sean insisted. “I can prove it to you.”

Sans looked up and levelled him with a glare. When Sean walked away, he glared at the wall and waited for him to come back. It didn’t take long.

“Look.” He held a bottle in front of him. 

Sans wasn’t impressed. “Dry shampoo? That’s your proof?”

“This has been collecting dust in a drawer since we moved in. It’s still in the packaging. Do you know what that means?” The couch dipped as Sean sat down, gazing imploringly at the other.

“Uh, that Tori wasted 20 bucks?”

Sean fought the urge to roll his eyes. “It means that you have taken a shower every single day we’ve lived here.”

The glare fell off Sans’s face. He stared, brow furrowed, as the implications sunk in.

In the months following Gaster’s final test, there had been stretches that spanned multiple days during which Sans couldn’t bear to get his head wet. Dry shampoo had become a constant in his life (as had deodorant and Tori’s lenience when it came to playing hooky). Sometimes the mere thought of standing under the showerhead was enough to make his heart speed up, and no amount of shame he felt could slow it down.

There must still be a half-used bottle at Tori’s house, Sans thought, considering the stuff never really expired, but she had bought him a new one right before they moved in. That was over a year ago, and he hadn’t touched it.

All the anger, all the disgust and guilt and despair that had been beating against him from the inside, drained away like soapy water. Sans’s lips quirked up the tiniest bit.

“I haven’t showered every day,” he said quietly, sagging into Sean’s side. “Definitely haven’t shampooed every day. Not really supposed to, being black and all.”

Sean huffed a laugh, planting a kiss on his head and holding him close. They sat like that for a while, finding comfort in each other’s presence and knowing what was being said without either of them speaking. Sometime later, Sean pulled back, bringing them face-to-face.

“Feeling better?” 

Frowning at the new space between them, Sans pushed his head back into Sean’s chest. “Tired,” he mumbled. It was true. He felt wrung-out, both physically and emotionally, and had honestly been ready to pass out since they returned home.

There was a poke on his back. “I’m not carrying you to bed.”

In response Sans simply snuggled in closer, perfectly content where he was. It was warm, and safe, and it didn’t seem like Sean was irritated with him even after that little tantrum.

“I’m being serious,” Sean told him sternly.

“Mhm.”

He drifted off shortly after that, and woke up late the next morning curled into the soft blankets on Sean’s bed, wrapped in the same pair of arms he’d fallen asleep in the night before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wowzers it's been a hot minute since this has updated. So sorry about that, and thank you so much to anyone who has stuck around! Personal writing ended up close to the bottom of my list of priorities fall semester, and while I hope I have a little more time this semester I have no idea how busy it'll be. Just know that I haven't abandoned this story or these characters, and I appreciate all of you so much!

**Author's Note:**

> I'll have to make sure it fits in this universe, but if anyone has an idea for a chapter/something they'd like to see you can hit me up on Tumblr! https://www.tumblr.com/blog/reflectionsofalex


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